India -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, English
"That's as you look at ut," said Mulvaney, calmly; "Annie Bragin niver
cared for me. For all that, I did not want to leave anything behin' me
that Bragin could take hould av to be angry wid her about--whin an honust
wurrd cud ha' cleared all up. There's nothing like opin-speakin'.
Orth'ris, ye scutt, let me put me oi to that bottle, for my throat's as
dhry as whin I thought I wud get a kiss from Annie Bragin. An' that's
fourteen years gone! Eyah! Cork's own city an' the blue sky above ut--an'
the times that was--the times that was!"
THE THREE MUSKETEERS
An' when the war began, we chased the bold Afghan,
An' we made the bloomin' Ghazi for to flee, boys O!
An' we marched into Kabul, an' we tuk the Balar 'Issar
An' we taught 'em to respec' the British Soldier.
_Barrack Room Ballad._
Mulvaney, Ortheris and Learoyd are Privates in B Company of a Line
Regiment, and personal friends of mine. Collectively I think, but am not
certain, they are the worst men in the regiment so far as genial
blackguardism goes.
They told me this story, in the Umballa Refreshment Room while we were
waiting for an up-train. I supplied the beer. The tale was cheap at a
gallon and a half.
All men know Lord Benira Trig. He Is a Duke, or an Earl, or something
unofficial; also a Peer; also a Globe-trotter. On all three counts, as
Ortheris says, "'e didn't deserve no consideration." He was out in India
for three months collecting materials for a book on "Our Eastern
Impedimenta," and quartering himself upon everybody, like a Cossack in
evening-dress.
His particular vice--because he was a Radical, men said--was having
garrisons turned out for his inspection. He would then dine with the
Officer Commanding, and insult him, across the Mess table, about the
appearance of the troops. That was Benira's way.
He turned out troops once too often. He came to Helanthami Cantonment on a
Tuesday. He wished to go shopping in the bazars on Wednesday, and he
"desired" the troops to be turned out on a Thursday. _On--a--Thursday._
The Officer Commanding could not well refuse; for Benira was a Lord. There
was an indignation-meeting of subalterns in the Mess Room, to call the
Colonel pet names.
"But the rale dimonstrashin," said Mulvaney, "was in B Comp'ny barrick; we
three headin' it."
Mulvaney climbed on to the refreshment-bar, settled himself comfortably by
the beer, and went on, "Whin the row was at ut's foinest an' B Comp'ny was
fur goin' out to murther this man Thrigg on the p'rade-groun', Learoyd
here takes up his helmut an' sez--fwhat was ut ye said?"
"Ah said," said Learoyd, "gie us t' brass. Tak oop a subscripshun, lads,
for to put off t' p'rade, an' if t' p'rade's not put off, ah'll gie t'
brass back agean. Thot's wot ah said. All B Coomp'ny knawed me. Ah took
oop a big subscripshun--fower rupees eight annas 'twas--an' ah went oot to
turn t' job over. Mulvaney an' Orth'ris coom with me."
"We three raises the Divil In couples gin'rally," explained Mulvaney.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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